Master of the Hunt
by NotQuittingMyDayJob
Summary: A band of three troll mercenaries accept a job in the Stonetalon Mountains, and discover they are in way over their heads. A spinoff/related tale of the story Darkspear Autumn.
1. Chapter 1

Kazlin wondered how much longer his burning leg muscles could carry him. Twenty minutes? Ten? He did not know. In fact, he could hardly keep his wits at all. Exhilaration. Fatigue. Panic. Each of the conflicting feelings ricocheted through his reeling emotional center. He _did_ know what he needed to do – survive until sunrise – he just wasn't sure how.

The young troll's heart was reaching its bursting point, and a searing fire raged within his lungs. He tore at the front of his leather tunic to let the cold air reach his sweaty blue skin. His hunting cloak splayed out behind him as he ran, the edges tattered and ripped as if by sharp tree branches or animal mischief.

A crunchy layer of snow hid the ground in most spots but gave way to icy patches in others. As a low-hanging tree branch jumped out of the blackness in front of him, Kazlin ducked. The knotty limb struck the curve of his back, making him stumble. One gloved hand balance-checked the frozen ground, but it was no use, he was going to fall.

_Oh no, this is it_, he thought to himself.

The troll tucked his head and somersaulted into a crouch, skidding to a stop in the frost. In one fluid movement, he quickly drew an arrow from his quiver, knocked it on his bowstring and turned in the direction from which he had come. Breathing ashen puffs into the cold pre-dawn air, he listened. Though the echo his heartbeat made in his ears drowned out every sound around him, he imagined he could hear – or maybe sense – the patter of swift feet bearing down on him.

"Just get up an' keep movin'," he muttered to himself, staring down the length of his arrow. "Go now or yah not be goin' ever."

He hopped up and rambled on like a wounded stag being chased by a pack of frenzied wolves – which wasn't too far from the truth. He leapt small shrubs and weaved through tree clusters seconds after they materialized out of the darkness. He concentrated on landing one foot squarely in front of the other, because it kept his mind off the alternative.

In his subconscious, Kazlin knew he was doomed. He was doomed the moment he and his companions had accepted their foolish "quest" days ago. In that normally tranquil but now toxic corner of his brain, he could feel panic replacing hope like a murky cancer.

"That's him messin' wit jah head," Kazlin sputtered. "Just throw it off."

In what he later described as a waking dream caused by sorcery, or fright, or maybe both, Kazlin saw himself hanging upside down from the roof of a dank cave. Though he struggled, a heavy rope bound his arms to his sides. Looking down, he could see the mist-covered ground shift and move under him. Things were down there – sentient things – circling. He suddenly felt the cord that suspended him jerk and then give way as if cut. He fell headlong towards the rocky floor, towards whatever creatures waited for him there. Aaaaaaaaa!

Kazlin snapped back to reality. He was still on his feet and running, luckily. He began to concentrate again on his footwork, pushing all other thoughts from his head. He would never stop, never surrender, never suffer such a fate. Only thirty more minutes before the sun would pierce the horizon.


	2. Chapter 2

The misbegotten adventure had started two days earlier in the totemic village of Sun Rock Retreat, high in the Stonetalon Mountains. Though they bordered the sweltering Barrens, the forested peaks could get bitterly cold in winter. Kazlin and his companions – the trolls Bendi and Tashtego – huddled around their campfire after an evening meal of roasted hare and sweet cornmeal cakes. A bone-chilling breeze swirled the smoke from Tashtego's tobacco spliff and sent it in the direction of the others.

"How can yah smoke that garbage," Kazlin asked, waving a gloved hand in front of his face. "Yah know tha pink-skins poison that stuff when they grows it?"

"Mahbe dat what mah likes 'bout it," replied Tashtego, his deep voice thickly accented. "Ah likkle baderation nevah killed nobadi, baas. Anywhey, dis be ah cel'bration, nah? Ours put ah hurtin' on dem patu harpies."

Kazlin nodded in the affirmative, but unlike his friend, he didn't take pleasure in knowing they had slain the band of harpies encroaching on Sun Rock. To his mind, every creature deserved a home, even the territorial she-birds – just not here, where innocent hill folk were being harmed. Kazlin couldn't help but consider the plight of his own people, the Darkspear, who had been driven from their ancestral lands in Stranglethorn Vale.

"Nobody can understand a word you're saying… mon," Bendi teased, filling the void left by Kazlin's silence. Born and raised in Sen'jin Village, she was the only one of the group to speak their native tongue without a foreigner's brogue. She tossed her plate at Tashtego's feet. "Why not make yourself useful and go clean up this mess? You uncouth layabout."

Tashtego looked at Bendi in mock insult. "Mah killed dat raabbit yah jus' et," he countered. "An' anyway, washin' de dutchy be woman's work."

Bendi said nothing, instead shooting the troll warrior a fierce glare that prompted him to gather the cooking kit and amble over to the pond near the center of the village, mumbling under his breath as he went.

"Forever tha gruff one," said Kazlin, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes," agreed Bendi. "Arrogant as a peacock and stubborn as a mule. Someday, he will get us in trouble for sure."

"I was talkin' about yahself," said Kazlin, now smiling.

Bendi blushed, then laughed. She stood and moved closer to where Kazlin sat, the firelight playing on his tusked face. He was fiddling with a small bone fife, as if preparing to play it. "You wouldn't have it any other way," she said, sitting down and placing her hand gently on his. "Finally, some time alone. Do not ruin it with that noise."

The hunter half-heartedly recoiled from the mage's touch. "Bendi, we talked about this," he said, sighing. "I answerin' ta tha call of tha wild. I not tha settlin' down type. Yah needs tah find a troll that yah can…"

Bendi cut him off, "… grow old with. Yes, yes, I know. And where am I supposed to find this just-what-the-witchdoctor-ordered troll when we're always running around in the woods playing hero?" she asked, hotly. "We are not kids playing soldier anymore, Kazlin." Then, more calmly, she said, "Maybe I think that what you want most in this world is a home, a family, and a love to share it with. You're just too afraid to do anything about it."

Kazlin turned to Bendi and opened his mouth to reply. Just then, Tashtego strode back into the firelight, a proud grin stretched from ear to ear. "Dis troll be findin' ours anodda quest," he said excitedly. "Dis one fo' pans o' riches. No mo' chasin birds an' spidahs. We be slayin' de elfs… an' somebadi called de Cenarion."


	3. Chapter 3

Climbing up on Stonetalon Peak, Kazlin could see the fires of Sun Rock below. At the end of the day, he had let himself be talked into the mission to destroy the Kaldorei elfs and the Cenarion that inhabited the vale at the top of the mountain. Not for himself – he had a bad feeling about the quest – but for his companions. Kazlin knew that Tashtego sought to prove himself a great and terrible warrior. For Bendi, he wanted the reward promised in return for their success. If she were ever to be happy, she needed a home and a husband. The spoils they were due to receive would go a long way to helping her achieve the first part.

_An' maybe some day I can help her with tha second part_, he had thought.

Kazlin's unease grew as the trolls jogged up the frost-covered path just south of the summit. Tashtego had said a female elf had been the quest giver. Why would an elf be seeking aid in Sun Rock, a Horde camp? And why would she wish the death of her own kind? Tashtego, never the brightest troll, didn't care and hadn't asked. Kazlin had sought out the elf for answers, but she had seemingly vanished from the village.

Now, as the party reached the final rise, Kazlin silently brought them to a halt.

"I do not like what I am sensin'," he whispered. "I think we needs ta be careful, sneak 'round an' listen b'fore we do anythin' else." He glowered at Tashtego. "Agreed?"

"Wha' yah eye-ballin' me fo'?" the other troll said, defensively. "Okee, fine. Mah promise."

Crouching low and cresting the hill, Kazlin and the others beheld a valley unlike any they had seen before. Lush, fertile, misty, with green and purple trees in full bloom despite the winter snow covering the rest of the mountain. In the center of the vale, they could make out marble columns fronting ornamental platforms that were not quite buildings, but more like altars. Using hand signals to communicate, the trolls snuck closer to the innermost dias.

There, surrounded by a half moon of genuflecting elfs dressed in robes, stood what Kazlin could only assume were the Cenarion. Though centaur-like in appearance, the Cenarion were bigger and appeared to be not just fauna, but flora at the same time – their hindquarters covered in bark, with wood appendages growing from their heads like antlers. More than a few had branches for arms and twigs for fingers.

Bendi was spellbound. "They're so… beautiful," she whispered.

Suddenly, lightning flashed and wind ripped through the treetops. Rising from where he had been kneeling at the heart of the congregation, a god-like figure stood and raised his hands to the skies.

"Even in winter, you are not safe. Stay indoors. Attend your hearths. Try to keep the night at bay by the telling of your tongue," it chanted. "For at this time, the dead begin to stir, riding upon hallowed roads, galloping through villages and wastes, flying through the forests of the mind. Such raids are reminders that the past is not a dead thing, but may return, like a hunter, to follow us for a time."

The massive humanoid wore black-green armor, and a vicious whip hung at its waist. Around its neck was strung a worn hunting horn; on its head rested a black helmet topped with a ragged rack of bone antlers. As the figure slowly turned in the direction of the concealed trolls, its glowing red eyes marking the bushes in which they hid, Kazlin felt his heart sink.

"I see Braelyn has sent more lost souls for the having," intoned the spectral leader. He put the horn to the face of his helmet, and as a terrible din like the sound of shrieking poured forth, a pack of coal-black hounds appeared from the mist. "Tear them down," ordered the figure. With that, the fell beasts broke for the trolls.

The hunters had become the hunted.


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, Kazlin realized the elf quest giver had played the trolls against themselves. While she had promised each what they wanted – glory in battle for Tashtego, a fresh start at a quiet life for Bendi, and contentment for Kazlin – what she had dealt them instead was death.

As the wolfish hounds closed on the trolls, Kazlin let fly a volley of arrows and Bendi called down a blizzard to pelt the animals. A few of the dozen dogs faltered, but the rest simply bristled and sprinted onward. Cruel barking filled the midnight as the adventurers, seeing the meager effect of their attack, prepared to do the only thing they could to survive… flee.

"There will be other fights, other days," said Kazlin, grabbing Bendi by the arm and preparing to run.

When Kazlin looked for Tashtego, he found him already on the go… right at the hounds. The snarling warrior crashed into the pack like a ship splitting the surf. His battleaxe chopped deep into the flank of the lead dog. Then he spun, his weapon acting as a scythe and mowing down two leaping strikes. The animals swiftly encircled Tashtego, one jumping up on his back and clawing at his neck and shoulders. Kazlin and Bendi began to hurl missiles – both real and magical – at the nearest hounds, but they knew the fight was hopeless. More wild-eyed dogs ensnared the warrior's legs and torso. Only four of the creatures had been knocked out of action.

"Run!" yelled Tashtego, struggling to keep his arms free and his axe swinging. The monstrous hounds were slowly pulling him down. Like a drowning man with his head just above water, the warrior roared once and then disappeared into a sea of shadowy fur.

"No," said Bendi, a muted cry of denial.

The hounds' spectral master – the one Kazlin would come to know as Cernunnos, Lord of the Wild Hunt – walked indifferently into the writhing mass of canines, cracking his barbed whip to disperse them. As Kazlin and Bendi turned and took flight, the demon-god bent to pick up Tashtego's tattered corpse. "His flesh will feed my dogs of doom, and his soul will nourish the spirits of the fallen in my den. As will your own." Kazlin heard the raspy words inside his mind, like molten steel in the center of his brain.

"Gah!" exclaimed Bendi. "His words burn like fire." As the two loped on, Kazlin noticed a bead of blood falling from his companion's nose.

The trolls raced over the vale's crest and darted down the forested path toward Sun Rock. Behind them, the dreadful blow of the huntsman's horn split the air once more. The chase was on. Bendi and Kazlin forged ahead through the trees and snow, the only sounds coming from their ragged breathing and the raucous barking of the hounds in pursuit.

The pair ran for what felt like hours, the hounds always on their heels but never catching them. Cernunnos continued to pry his way into their minds, threatening and mocking. _Escape is impossible_, he said. And then Kazlin heard a sound above the din of the hunt. A howling sound that came from every direction beyond the trees, from the blackness. He and Bendi stopped and glanced at each other, questioning.

All at once, there came a mist – a swirling mist of dark purples and unpleasant blues. It was the mist that howled. The mist began to creep further toward the trolls, as if reaching out for them.

Kazlin moved close to his friend. "Bendi! What is this sorcery?"

Bendi's face was full of horror and her lips seemed frozen until at last she said, "It is the hunt master's magic. He conjured a howling mist to aid him. I cannot do anything against it. Ah! It comes!"

The mist began to surround them. Kazlin tried to disperse it by waving his arms, but it gathered too thickly. Its grim howling filled his ears, and its hideous colors blinded his eyes. He tried to rush through it, but it remained with him. And now he thought he heard words amongst the howls. "Kazlin is weak. Kazlin is foolish. Kazlin must die."

"Stop this!" he yelled. He bumped into Bendi and fell to his knees. He began to crawl, desperately trying to peer through the mist. He cried out for Bendi but heard only a mocking echo of his name. He shut his lips and his eyes and, still crawling, tried to free himself from the howling mist. It was no use. Sensing the presence of the dog pack nearby, Kazlin fell into unconsciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Kazlin stared blankly into the blazing bonfire at the Crossroads, not looking at his sister, Hel, his guild mates, Gaji and Chadou, or any of the others seated nearby.

"When I awoke, tha howlin' mist be gone. An' Bendi too," he said. "Some time must have passed, 'cause tha stars told me that daylight was just a half-hour away.

"There were dog tracks all around where I had been layin' on tha ground, an' I could see long streaks in tha snow headin' back toward Stonetalon Peak, like a body had been dragged that way," Kazlin said, sighing. "I found Bendi's staff in tha trees nearby, bloodied an' broken.

"I was on my way ta go find her when I heard tha sound of tha horn an' tha bayin' tha hounds again… close by, comin' from tha direction of tha mountaintop. I was younger then, less experienced, an' fear got tha best of me. I ran. Agwe damn me, I ran. I knew Bendi no doubt was dead like Tashtego, no?

"I ran an' ran, tha dogs of doom an' tha voice of Cernunnos drivin' me onward. When tha sun finally cracked tha horizon, I somehow knew I was safe. Tha cries of tha hounds faded, an' I stumbled into Sun Rock.

"After, I fell on black days, an' it be in that lost time that I met Cael'jin. Witout his strength an' healin words, I would have nothin' ta believe in, no home amongst tha Hand of Itzul. This fambly is tha only thing keepin' me from goin' wild thinkin' 'bout that hunt.

"I have never been back ta Stonetalon Peak. But someday, ayya, someday I will. I have a score ta settle with tha hunt master."

With that, Kazlin's voice trails off and he stares into the glowing red coals of the fire once again.


End file.
